


Leukophobia

by demiguise



Series: Leukophobia - Mahoutokoro AU [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Boys Being Boys, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mahoutokoro (Harry Potter), Oikawa is an ugly crier, You Should Have Come to Shiratorizawa, dumb boys in love, lots of magic, protect iwaizumi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2019-03-16 08:58:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13633014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demiguise/pseuds/demiguise
Summary: “When did you lose it?” Iwaizumi blinks rapidly, staring up at Oikawa’s rigid posture, detesting the mask he is putting on, not sure he wants to hear the answer to his question.Oikawa looks genuinely confused, “Lose what?”“Your trust in me.”---------Oikawa's robes turn white. The greatest stain on a Mahoutokoro student.





	Leukophobia

**Author's Note:**

> Please read: This work was originally posted last year, but due to an unfortunate accident it got deleted (along with my account). Thankfully all of that has been fixed! But it does mean that I lost all of your wonderful comments. Anyway, thanks once again for the amazing support this fic got.
> 
> \-----
> 
> I've always been fascinated with the new wizarding schools ever since that pottermore article came out. I NEED more info on Mahoutokoro and their color-changing robes. Like, does an alarm go off when they turn white? Does everyone find out right away? Can the robes change back? I've clearly taken my liberties with describing how the school operates, but I'll let my imagination run wild until J.K gives more answers.
> 
> I also added extra robe colors because fight me if Iwaizumi wouldn't look good wearing dark green robes.

  

“If the robes turn white, this is an indication that the student has betrayed the Japanese wizard's code and adopted illegal practices (which in Europe we call 'Dark' magic) or broken the International Statute of Secrecy. To 'turn white' is a terrible disgrace, which results in instant expulsion from the school and trial at the Japanese Ministry for Magic.”- J.K Rowling, Pottermore.

 

 

Iwaizumi jumps off the giant storm petrel before it even has the chance to level itself for landing. An indignant shriek muffles the harsh thud against the cobblestone, and Iwaizumi barely manages to keep his face from kissing the ground as he straightens his back and runs. His chest is on fire, as if he ran all of the way back to the school instead of flying. The pounding in his chest is not due to physical exertion, but an emotion Iwaizumi rarely feels, and yet is always produced by the same person.

Fear.

His breath coming in uneven puffs, Iwaizumi uses all of his internal strength to not squeeze his eyes shut and give into the panic that teases with enveloping him and rend him immobile, useless.

It could just be a rumor. A very tasteless one.

The idiot thrives on making enemies; it could just be someone trying to tarnish his pristine reputation with the professors.

_I’ll kill them._

_I’ll kill him._

 

 

The cracking of his knuckles alerts Iwaizumi to the fact that his hands are whitened fists at the moment, he barely registers crossing the jade-stone threshold before he is forcibly stopped by a hand to his chest.

“He’s in the dueling changing rooms. He will not see anyone, Iwa-”

Iwaizumi smacks Hanamaki’s hand away, a glare clouding his already turbulent features.

“He _will_ see _me_.”

Matsukawa appears from behind Hanamaki, donning a pleasant smile that does not fit the situation.

“We know that, you brave brute. That’s why we’re guarding the entrance to make sure you are the only one that goes in.”

Iwaizumi feels his chest tightening once more, “It’s true?”

Hanamaki clicks his tongue, neither confirming nor denying. “Just get in there already.”

He sees the iron door just mere feet ahead of him, and for a brief second, Iwaizumi is convinced that fear has conquered his limbs and has successfully paralyzed him.

The source of his fear is always the same person.

He can feel Hanamaki’s and Matsukawa’s gaze on him as he hits his right thigh with his fist, willing his frozen muscles to snap out of it.

Luckily for Iwaizumi, the source of his fear is also the one reason he is willing to face anything. Even this.

He reaches the door and turns the knob.

 

 

The changing rooms are eerily quiet. It’s a Saturday morning, no classes, meaning no dueling practices except for top members of the dueling club. His steps resonate against the pale green walls, announcing his entrance. He is expecting an indignant yell, a threat, telling him to stay away, but none come.

The silence is more terrifying than any yelling could be. Yelling he can handle. He is used to the idiot’s obnoxiously loud voice irritating him 24/7. He is unfamiliar with his silence.

Iwaizumi rounds the corner and spots him without any trouble—he is not attempting to hide from anyone.

Oikawa is hunched over his knees, an uncharacteristic slump to his slender back. He is wearing his favorite jacket—the one Iwaizumi gifted him when he became the captain of the dueling club, a white one with mint colored stripes on the sides (“How sentimental, Iwa-chan, it almost matches the school colors~”) but by the bulky appearance Iwaizumi knows Oikawa is wearing his robes underneath.

His greeting chokes back into his throat, back all the way to his esophagus, down his lungs, through his vena cava directly into his rapidly pumping heart.

White robes.

Oikawa lifts his head just in time to see Iwaizumi’s pale expression. A snarl forms on his top lip.

“Save me the lecture, Iwa-chan.”

He stands, tall and proud even now. But the thing with being childhood friends is that Iwaizumi can always spot the tells—the dark circles under brown eyes, a slight tremor to his jaw.

Oikawa is as scared as he is, that is all Iwaizumi needs to know in order to swallow his own fear and be brave enough for the two of them.

“When?” his voice doesn’t waver, and it’s all the encouragement he needs to walk closer towards Oikawa.

He does not miss the way Oikawa gives a step back.

“This morning. I was getting ready for practice and there they were—pristine white as my beautiful smile.” The joke feels out of place and of poor taste, he knows Oikawa is only pretending to keep it together.

 

 

When they were six, Oikawa would love reading the same story over and over again during one of their many sleepovers. It was meant to be a children’s book, despite its obvious role as a cautionary tale—Daishou the White Robed Menace.

It started innocently enough. An ordinary wizard, like Iwaizumi and Oikawa, eager to excel at Mahoutokoro Institute of Magic. He attended all the same classes as Iwaizumi and Oikawa, even joined the same clubs! Then one day, Daishou started being jealous of the witches and wizards who excelled at certain spells or subjects he struggled with. He grew greedy, knowing there must be a way to simplify his path to greatness. In his desire to attain gold robes, Daishou turned to dark magic, and the gold he so coveted turned white as snow—marking him as a practitioner of the dark arts, losing him his place as a student at Mahoutokoro forever shunned by the wizarding community.

“Expelled from the jade-green palace, never to return again!” Oikawa would always open his mouth and eyes wide for the grand finale, conveying the terrible fate that had befallen Daishou.

“Can we do something else?” Iwaizumi hated that story, not only because Oikawa had ingrained it into his mind with endless retelling, but it truly made him wonder what would happen if—

“Do you think he knew, Iwa?” Oikawa’s voice was oddly soft, “Do you think he knew his robes would turn white?”

“Of course, you idiot. It doesn’t just happen overnight—the story says so. Or have you forgotten already after pretty much having memorized each line?” He scoffed and punched the pillow he was lying on to better accommodate his head.

Oikawa pouted at him as he closed the book.

“You’re no fun, Iwa-chan. We should investigate this matter as much as possible so it never—”

“It’ll never happen to us.”

Oikawa blinked at him, tentatively crawling over to take the empty side of the futon.

“What makes you so sure of that?”

Iwaizumi puffed out his chest.

“I’ll make sure it never happens.”

Then he smacked the pillow against Oikawa’s head for laughing at him.

 

 

Now there is no laughter, no mocking, and Iwaizumi feels completely nauseated at the lack of control he has over this situation.

He takes another step forward.

“Oikawa, what happened?”

He expects vague answers. Hell, he expects outright denial of there even being warning signs. What he doesn’t expect is for Oikawa to drop his head against his chest, take a deep breath, and tell him the truth.

“I was trying to beat Ushijima.”

Iwaizumi sees red. Before he can control his visceral outrage, he has Oikawa by the lapel of those damn white robes, the mint jacket once precariously placed on Oikawa’s shoulders flapping to the floor, tossing him against the wooden lockers.

“You told me you had put that behind you! I told you to stop that damn contest between the two of you! He is not better than y-”

Oikawa’s eyes are unnervingly glassy when he does make eye contact with him.

“Yeah, well, I am pretty good at keeping secrets. Even from you, Iwa-chan.” He lifts his trembling hands and places them over Iwaizumi’s grip, his skin cold against Iwaizumi’s pumping rage. He doesn’t know who he’s angrier at—Oikawa for letting a petty rivalry escalate to this, or himself for not having realized something was wrong.

 

 

Where Oikawa’s popularity had initially stemmed from his good looks, Ushijima’s popularity led back to fearful respect.

Ushijima had been the first fifth year whose robes had turned gold. He had not made a big deal about it, had not paraded around like Oikawa probably would’ve done. He had simply shown up to Herbology class one day, shining gold, and taken his usual seat at the front of the class while Sensei Haruna explained how to capture a mandrake’s cry and turn it into a powerful weapon.

It was no secret that Oikawa and Ushijima were rivals. Iwaizumi still remembered their first day inside Mahoutokoro’s walls. Nervousness and excitement filled the air, as both Oikawa and Iwaizumi pretended not to hold on to each other’s robes to avoid getting separated in the sea of soft pink robes.

It was Iwaizumi who spotted Ushijima first. His confident posture and emotionless stare made him look older. He seemed completely unfazed by the mist dragons sprouting cherry blossoms above them—as if magic was not a thing that awed him. Next to him, an extremely skinny boy with shockingly red hair and unnervingly cunning eyes stood catching the cherry blossoms and crumbling them in his long fingers, the grin never leaving his face.

It was Ushijima who first spotted Oikawa. His face betraying nothing, he turned his body towards them, reaching them in four quick strides. He bowed in indifferent respect by means of greeting, and in Ushijima fashion, cut straight to the point.

“Oikawa Tooru. Your family has produced nothing but excellent witches and wizards. I admire your grandfather’s breakthroughs in spell work. Join me in charms club.”

Iwaizumi was never able to pinpoint what made Oikawa dislike Ushijima so quickly. It could have been his bossy attitude, it simply could have been that he recognized potential standing in front of him, and felt threatened by it.

Oikawa responded with full-blown arrogance, his lip curling to the point he almost bared his teeth, leaning forward with both hands on his hips.

“Charms are for simple minded people who get stuck in theory. If I’m going to excel, I’ll excel at the real thing— _we_ are joining the dueling club.”

Iwaizumi still remembers the sensation of Oikawa’s hand wrapping around his as he faced up Ushijima.

 

 

When it came to academics, Oikawa and Ushijima were always head to head. There seemed to be nothing the other one could not do, and while Ushijima continued to climb in silent success, Oikawa seethed more and more whenever he found himself at a tie, yet again, with the cold gaze boy.

Things would have remained a petty school rivalry if it hadn’t been for Tendou.

“Ahhh~ our miracle boy does it again.”

They were nearly done with their lesson on water spells. Half the class was a soaking mess, including Iwaizumi, who had always been better at handling earth-sourced spells.

Oikawa was steaming. It was public knowledge that he was an ace when it came to fire spells, and he was currently trying to dry the hem of his barely wet robes while shooting daggers at Ushijima’s back.

Ushijima was completely dry, despite the fact that he was engulfed in a water bubble.

The professor and the rest of the sixth years had gathered around Ushijima, clapping at his mastery.

Iwaizumi never spotted Tendou coming to stand behind them.

“What’s wrong, Oikawa, water a little too slippery for you?”

“Go away, Tendou, by rule I decide not to stand too close to ugly people.”

Iwaizumi groaned, already steering Oikawa away from potential trouble.

“Let it go, Trashy-”

“Yeees~ let go, Oikawa, let go, let go, let gooooo” Tendou creepily broke into a song, walking closer towards them. The class and the professor still too preoccupied with praising Ushijima to notice the minor squabble birthing behind them.

“Let goo~ of what, you ask?” Iwaizumi glared at the red haired boy, who seemed to be contorting his body in inhuman forms as he carried on with his sick tune. He attempted to stand between them, but in a surprising display of strength, Oikawa pushed Iwaizumi aside.

“ _What_?” Oikawa’s features were marred with resentment.

Tendou smiled wide.

“Your pride.”

 

 

It was an unspoken agreement: not mentioning Ushijima or Tendou’s clearly affective comment.

Iwaizumi believed Oikawa would get over it in the same way he got over the multitude of confessions he got on a weekly basis: he would grow bored.

It was a gross miscalculation on his end.

“Iwa-chan, be my second.” Iwaizumi looked up from the parchment he was working on (The Magical Properties of Kappas) and found Oikawa gazing down at him with determination in his eyes.

“Your second what?” he resisted the urge to kick Oikawa’s legs when the brown haired idiot responded with an overdramatic roll of his eyes.

“Dueling partner, of course. Really, Iwa-chan, how many years have you been vice captain of the dueling club?”

“Enough to know you don’t ask for these things last minute, Crappykawa. We don’t have any competitions coming up.”

Oikawa’s gaze turned, if anything, deadlier.

“This is a real duel, Iwa-chan. Against Ushijima. And we are going to win.”

He had Iwaizumi’s full attention now, parchment forgotten on the wooden table.

“Oikawa, I swear, if you challenged him to a duel—”

"Of course I challenged him to a duel!” The shriek in Oikawa’s voice forced Iwaizumi to pause his scolding. His friend was clearly more agitated than usual, which was saying something. “Dueling is my thing, Iwa-chan! I will be damned if I don’t prove to him that dueling is the one thing he can’t have.”

It was Iwaizumi’s turn to roll his eyes, “This is ridiculous, and beneath you.”

“Hajime, please.”

Most people considered Oikawa a shallow yet determined person. Rarely fazed by the circumstances around him, he struck you as the type of person who would look beautiful when he was crashing and burning, and terrifying as, minutes later, he got back up on his feet, ready to try again.

Most people did not know Oikawa like Iwaizumi did. They did not know he was terrified of bugs, would cry unattractively when things didn’t go his way, and was convinced that there was life in outer space (“ _We are wizards, Iwa-chan! Why in the world would aliens not exist when magic does?!”_ ). They also didn’t know that half the time he needed Iwaizumi to catch ~~him~~ his falls.

“You—yes, you fucking moron, yes, I will be your second.”

Oikawa seemed to deflate in relief.

“But,” Iwaizumi stood. Placing two hands on Oikawa’s stiff shoulders, “we are training my way. Not your way, which mainly consists of pulling all-nighters and unhealthy conditions—“

“Rude!”

“Understood?”

Iwaizumi felt his breath leave his lungs as, instead of whining and throwing a tantrum, Oikawa closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against his.

“I trust you, Iwa-chan. Let’s give ‘em hell.”

 

 

Iwaizumi never got to be Oikawa’s second. Clearly, Oikawa had meddled with other, faster routes to win a duel.

“When did you lose it?” Iwaizumi blinks rapidly, staring up at Oikawa’s rigid posture, detesting the mask he is putting on, not sure he wants to hear the answer to his question.

Oikawa looks genuinely confused, “Lose what?”

“Your trust in me.”

He has never prided himself in breaking Oikawa—teasing him relentlessly was one thing—but actually shattering his already fragile confidence was not something Iwaizumi sought. He looks away from Oikawa’s widened eyes—too much like the scared child he used to be when they would go out at night searching for gnomes.

“Hajime, I _never_ stopped trusting you.” Iwaizumi has to hand it to Oikawa, despite the trembling lips and already watered eyes his statement does not waver.

Iwaizumi takes a deep breath and tells himself they can still handle this, tells himself that he will fight anyone who even dares to suggest Tooru should be expelled, exiled from the wizarding community, anyone who even dares—he completely misses Oikawa pushing against the lockers to propel himself closer to Iwaizumi and grip his hand.

Iwaizumi has never been good with emotions. He hits Oikawa’s hand away before he has time to think on how his reaction is a direct contradiction to what he’d said earlier about trust. Bringing a hand to his furrowed brows, Iwaizumi attempts to calm down.

He should know patience is not Oikawa’s forte.

“Leave, Iwaizumi.” Says Oikawa, his best friend, best childhood friend and possibly unspoken love of his life in a voice so uncharacteristically cold he is sure the entire room temperature just dropped.

Iwaizumi responds with a glare and folding his arms over his chest.

He does not miss the way Oikawa positively bristles.

“I said LEAVE!” Oikawa stomps his foot like a petulant child, the disgusting white robes elegantly flowing around him. Of course even this blinding white would look good on him. Some of the concealed tears are already dripping down his face.

“I am not going to stand here as I am MANHANDLED and JUDGED and viewed with disgust by my b-best f-f-“

Hit it until it breaks. Isn’t that what Oikawa always says before a duel?

Oikawa has always been an ugly crier. Iwaizumi calls it small victories, because someone that makes alien patterned shirts attractive needs to have at least one flaw, right?

His nose, red with anger and covered in snot scrunches up as he hiccups, sucking in breath in an attempt to continue his tirade but only succeeding in exhaling loud sobs, mimicking a drowning man. His once stiff spine is beginning to hunch, and Iwaizumi knows that if he does not move now Oikawa will crumble to the ground.

He is there to catch him as Oikawa’s knees finally give, but he does not hold both of them up. Instead, Iwaizumi allows both of them to gently hit the cobbled dueling floor.

“If…” Iwaizumi’s voice is rough, as if he has not spoken for years instead of brief minutes. Swallowing gives way to the sensation of thorns traveling down his esophagus, and he can barely hear his own voice over Oikawa’s crying.

“If I’ve manhandled you, it’s because I wish I could take you away from all of this. If I’ve being judgmental, it’s with this stupid rule of expelling a white robe-wearer. If I’ve shown disgust…it’s with myself for not preventing this.”

Iwaizumi is bad with feelings. Punches and insults get the job done more efficiently, in his opinion. He feels Oikawa’s hiccups subside, and nearly gives a sigh of relief when he feels Oikawa’s hand finding the spot right over his heart and just resting there. He feels the intake of breath, signaling Oikawa is about to speak, and rushes to stop it.

“Don’t say it’s not my fault. What’s done is done. But it’s not the end. We’ll see through this like we’ve always seen through all obstacles. Together.”

The shaking starts again, and for a second Iwaizumi wonders if he has managed to break Oikawa once more, but then—

“I never knew you could be so cheesily heroic, Iwa-chan.”

Just as Iwaizumi has bared his heart, practically declared that nothing, not even dark magic or the Japanese Ministry of Magic, will keep them apart, Oikawa Tooru has the nerve to _laugh._

“Hey!” Iwaizumi’s punch lacks its usual strength, and Oikawa finally peeks from his hiding spot pressed against Iwaizumi’s chest. Puffy eyes narrowed slightly.

“That’s not how a chivalrous knight treats his damsel in distress.”

Now it’s Iwaizumi’s turn to laugh bitterly.

“A _dragon_ in distress, more like it.”

“Mean, Iwa-chan!”

Iwaizumi doesn’t know if his next decision is due to his current fight-or-flight mode, his entire nervous system on alert, terrified but yet decided to do anything in his control to ensure Oikawa is not expelled, or worse. He is not sure if it’s got to do with Oikawa’s ridiculously red face due to all the crying, the way snot has traveled from his nose to his top lip, or the way his perfect hair is plastered to his forehead. Or maybe, and Iwaizumi feels his chest constricting, maybe it has to do with the way his hand has unconsciously traveled to wrap itself around Oikawa’s hand, still comfortably resting over Iwaizumi’s somersaulting heart.

Oikawa’s lips are wet and chapped, and yet still warm to the touch against Iwaizumi’s. He keeps his own eyes open, because he is terrified and if he sees just one glimpse that Oikawa doesn’t want this Iwaizumi is ready to stop and apologize and blame it all on the intensity of the moment.

Oikawa does not flinch. In fact, Oikawa does not even move, completely paralyzed as both his and Iwaizumi’s lips are pressed together. The one thing Oikawa does is close his eyes at the contact.

A spark of hope igniting in the depths of Iwaizumi’s soul, he tentatively deepens the kiss, pleased when he hears a sigh coming from Oikawa. He never realizes when he chooses to close his own eyes.

For a few well-earned minutes, everything seems to grow quiet. There is no fanfare, no fireworks, no grand gesture from the universe celebrating the moment, just splendid silence that, in a way, suits Iwaizumi just right. Why would the universe need to loudly announce something that has quietly, peacefully, naturally been brewing for years?

 

 

The glorious silence is disrupted by, unsurprisingly, Oikawa himself.

“I can’t believe you, Iwa-chan! Only you would do this!”

Whereas a few minutes ago they were blissfully sharing their first kiss ( _first kiss!_ ), now he finds himself, once more, being pushed away by a panicking Oikawa who looks ready to burst into tears again.

“What?! You kissed me back, moron!”

Oikawa’s bright red face is completely buried in his hands.

“I CAN’T BELIEVE OUR FIRST KISS HAPPENED WHILE I WAS UGLY CRYING!”

Iwaizumi blinks. And then avalanches himself at Oikawa who has no means of stopping the oncoming force and simply reacts with an indignant squawk!

“If I had to wait for you to look good in order to kiss you, this never would’ve happened, Crappykawa.”

Oikawa makes that adorable ( _adorable!_ ) squawk noise again, directing a feeble glare in Iwaizumi’s direction.

“I’m melting at your romancing, Iwa-chan.”

“However…” Iwaizumi cannot believe his own boldness as he brings his face closer to Oikawa’s, “we can practice kissing at different times until we find a moment we’re both comfortable with.”

Oikawa does not respond with words. Iwaizumi is more than grateful.

 

 

“I told you they had not killed each other, Makki, you owe me dinner.”

“Wow, Oikawa _is_ an ugly crier.”

Disentangling their limbs from each other is a complicated task, particularly as Oikawa is attempting to yell at their friends and not let go of Iwaizumi’s hand at the same time.

“Makki! Mattsun! I told you to stay OUT! I can’t believe you would betray me like this!”

“Hey! Iwaizumi got in!” Matsukawa yells back.

“Iwaizumi is always an exception.” No one misses the way Oikawa’s gaze softens. Iwaizumi feels his cheeks catch fire.

Hanamaki makes a gagging sound.

“Thank Merlin you’re both still wearing your robes. Which, is what started all of this in case you have forgotten—robes.”

The lighthearted mood seems to puncture. Ah, yes, because life is not like the fairytales Oikawa and Iwaizumi had read as kids, Oikawa’s white robes had not been changed back thanks to true love’s kiss or something ridiculously cheesy like that.

Iwaizumi has no plan devised. He has no speech prepared to assure Oikawa that everything will be alright. Hell, Iwaizumi does not know if things will be alright. What he does know is that it has taken a precarious situation to admit feelings that had been bottled up inside his chest for far too long.

He will not make that same mistake again.

In one swift movement, Iwaizumi removes his own dark green robes (only two colors away from the coveted, problematic gold) and tosses them over Oikawa’s head.

“Whaa-Iwa—”

“Wear this for now. At least while we leave school grounds.” He quickly bends down to collect Oikawa’s jacket, placing it over his black tank top.

Hanamaki and Matsukawa glance at one other, unspoken communication passing between them.

Oikawa is shockingly quiet, staring at the robes Iwaizumi just removed.

“Iwaizumi…” Matsukawa begins.

Iwaizumi grits his teeth. “I know. I know this doesn’t change anything. I know this temporary solution will not stop the professors from eventually finding out what happened. But believe me when I say I will wear those damn white robes in front of the Ministry of Magic if it’ll earn us more time.”

And without missing a beat—

“Don’t start crying again, Oikawa.” He adds for good measure (“So rude! I’m not!” He takes satisfaction in hearing the insult has less bite than usual).

Hanamaki grins, giving Iwaizumi two thumbs up. Matsukawa shakes his head in fond resignation. Wordlessly, they have both pledged their loyalty to this: keep Oikawa’s situation hidden for as long as possible.

Iwaizumi turns to gauge Oikawa’s reaction, to find him much closer than before, the dark green robes concealing the white. Shyly, Oikawa reaches out his hand to cradle Iwaizumi’s face, his stare conveying the fear, gratitude, and something new (is it new? Or just like Iwaizumi, something that has been bottled up for years?).

“Let’s do this, Iwa-chan.”

Unspoken but clear: _I trust you unconditionally_.

“Let’s do this, Shittykawa.”

Hanamaki groans.

“I’m quitting the dueling club if this is what all interactions between you two will consist of now.”

“Seconded!” Comes Matsukawa’s voice as he moves towards the door.

Oikawa is glaring at all three.

“I’m quitting you all three for life if you don’t stop being so rude! We just _kissed_ , Iwa-chan, the insults need to end! Makki and Mattsun, I am the _victim_ here!”

Simultaneously snorting, all three start leaving the room.

 

 

Oikawa’s tirade continues as he rushes to catch up with them, constantly tugging at the dark green robes, the white barely peeking from underneath the hem. Iwaizumi soundlessly holds out his hand, and Oikawa grows quiet as he finally reaches him and softly squeezes his hand in return.

They both know a whole new world waits outside those doors. They both know there is no going back once word gets out about this.

They both know no magic in the world can separate what’s keeping their hands clinging on to one another.

Faintly, like a forgotten echo, there is a spark of hope resonating in the back of their heads: change the robes back.

 

 

What’s in a color? Absolutely nothing. Iwaizumi is ready to arm-wrestle the whole wide world to prove it.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I love Tendou. Really.
> 
> I also find joy in making Oikawa cry, bless him.
> 
> This could be a series? Don't quote me.  
> \---
> 
> Update 10/02/18: This is now a series! Expect part two very soon.


End file.
